


Chosen Words

by mydogwatson



Series: Postcard Tales II [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, John tries to use his words, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John thinks before he speaks.  Sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chosen Words

**Author's Note:**

> It was a coincidence that another title with 'words' in it came up. After I had written this, it occurred that it really serves as a companion to Warfare By Words from yesterday.
> 
> So I hope you feel they fit nicely together.

John Watson was a man who tried always to choose his words carefully. 

This was not his natural inclination. As a child, he was prone to bursts of fury, usually at his sister, who knew how to push his every button. Harry never got into trouble for instigating. John was the one who was paddled and sent to bed with no supper.

[Harry was the good child until puberty hit.]

As a teen, John was a street brawler.

Had a rep for it, in fact. He never really intended to fight and he rarely ever struck the first blow. Except with words. He let his anger control his voice and all the wrong words came out. A part of him hated what he became when the anger ruled: a red-faced, shouting force of nature.

Medical school taught him some degree of restraint. It was frowned upon when a resident exploded at an apparently incompetent nurse. John only did that once, was chastised immediately, apologised sincerely, and later slept with the attractive blonde.

But John Watson really became a careful, thoughtful speaker only after he went to war. Only after he saw what unrestrained anger could do to people. He really had no choice. The power of words, of language, was overwhelming and he was determined to control what came from him.

He was not perfect, of course. Once in a while, the dark creature inside would make an escape attempt. But for the most part, John kept it all bottled inside. After a time, it became easiest to just keep a lot of things inside.

Knowing so well by now what words could do, John worked very hard on his blog [despite frequent mockery from his arsehole flatmate], wanting to tell the truth as he saw it. The blog mattered to him, because the life he was living with Sherlock mattered.

*

Nothing had ever mattered to John as much as the words he tried to put down after Sherlock died.

Sometimes in those days, he spent hours reading the thesaurus, which he knew was a stupid thing to do. But if he were going to pay the proper tribute, to give Sherlock, in death at least, the respect that so few had given him in life, John wanted every word to be perfect.

There was little rhyme or reason to his search.

_Brave: Audacious. Spunky. Dauntless. Stout-hearted._

John gave a little smile. He rather liked the sound of ‘spunky’ but Sherlock would hate it. ‘Dauntless’ might work. But in the end, he went with ‘stout-hearted’ just because he liked the old-fashioned sound of the word. It sort of made Sherlock sound like a sword-wielding hero from an old black and white film.

The next word seemed inevitable.

_Hero: Swashbuckler. Daredevil._

Well, ‘swashbuckler’ was tempting, but it was a little bit too Harrison Ford sounding to fit. And there was no denying that Sherlock had been a daredevil. So that worked.

_Genius: Superability. Perspicacity. Wisdom._

Had Sherlock been wise? Yes, John rather thought he had been, although most often that part of him was hidden from public view by the arsehole aspect. Wisdom was quiet and steady and while it was true that very few people had ever seen that part of him, John knew it was there. Had been there.

_Handsome: Elegant. Graceful. Aristocratic. Noble._

He could not make a choice. Every one of those words fit Sherlock Holmes, although John was not quite sure why his research had taken this particular tack. He could not resist a brief flash of memory: a long lean figure in a flowing dressing gown rising from the sofa, stepping onto the table and from there moving across the room, making it all look like some choreographed ballet routine.

In the end, he put all the words down, deciding to choose one later.

_Companion: Friend. Beloved. Dearest. Lover. Swain._

Then he had to stop and find out what the hell ‘swain’ even meant.

_Admirer. Male lover._

John decided that was enough words for one day. He closed the thesaurus and powered down his laptop.

Too often lately all he wanted to do was scream and throw things, just like that four-year-old fighting with his horrid sister. Sometimes his thoughtful, chosen words were not enough.

*

He had planned his proposal speech for several days and still rather stumbled through it. That was, in part at least, Mary’s fault, because she kept interrupting him and trying to take charge of things as usual. Possibly he should have paid more attention to moments like that. Definitely. Maybe then, he would have had a clue. But never mind. Before he finished suggesting that they should get married, the French waiter turned out to be Sherlock and, sadly, John’s reliance on words failed him completely. All his plans went wrong and that was just the start of the wrongness, wasn’t it?

*

Then came the Xmas from hell.

A forgiveness speech, which actually forgave nothing. In fact, those words had mostly been chosen by Sherlock, scripted to sound as if they were coming from a husband still willing to work things out with his murderous wife. They revealed nothing of John’s true feelings.

It was something of a surprise to him that a woman as clever as Mary [or whoever she was] did not see the truth residing just beneath the surface of the practised words.

Or maybe she did see and the reaction, tears, snot and all, was just part of her own plan. He would probably never know. Within a few hours, it wouldn’t matter anyway, because John had no words at all to fix what had gone so disastrously wrong at Appledore.

It all seemed even worse when words failed him so magnificently once again, this time on the tarmac.

*

The next time John planned his words there was no room for ambiguity. For misunderstanding. This proposal would be perfect, he had decided, even without the fancy restaurant or expensive wine. At the last minute, he actually rehearsed in front of the bathroom mirror while running the shower so that Sherlock wouldn’t over-hear.

Finally, he took a deep breath, smoothed his hair, and left the bathroom.

Sherlock was sitting at the table sorting through slides of something that was probably disgusting, but he looked up when John entered the room.

John walked over to the table and just gazed at him for a moment. “Sherlock,” he said then, his voice firm, “these are words that I have chosen very carefully and have wanted to say for a very long time…”

Sherlock did not interrupt.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: Chosen Words by Ivor Brown


End file.
